


Hermit and the Wildman

by Green



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anchors, BAMF Stiles, Bathing/Washing, Canon-Typical Violence, Derek Hale Comes Back, Derek Hale is Stiles Stilinski's Anchor, Feral Derek Hale, Gunshot, Hurt Derek Hale, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Misguided Hunters, Stiles Stilinski is Derek Hale's Anchor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 12:03:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12232461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green/pseuds/Green
Summary: Since coming into his magic, Stiles lives a life of seclusion deep in the Preserve. Derek comes to him, half-feral and in trouble. Maybe Stiles needs Derek just as much as Derek seems to need him.





	Hermit and the Wildman

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written Sterek in years, so this is me dipping my toes in again.

The omega trips Stiles's wards before the hunters do, but he sees the latter before the former. They approach his house (cottage, whatever) and knock on the door and even though he knows they're there long before they make their presence known, he still makes them wait at his welcome mat ('Wipe Your Paws', it says) for a full five minutes before opening the door and giving them his bitchface.

"I'm busy," Stiles says, giving the couple — a man and a woman, mid-thirties, smelling of aconite and wariness so strong he thinks even his human nose can smell it — his best unimpressed look.

"Stilinski," the woman says with a respectful nod that makes him want to snort. "We tracked an omega here to your woods…"

Stiles wants to stop her there, tell her that the Preserve is Hale land, but he doubts it would matter to these hunters. They're new-blood, too wrapped up in contemporary hunting conventions to acknowledge what and who has come before.

He realizes that she's stopped speaking and she's waiting for his answer. Permission, probably.

"I'll take care of it myself," Stiles says.

"He's feral," the man says, and that brings Stiles up short. He hadn't felt anything of the sort when the omega entered the forest. Wildness, yes, but no mindless fury.

"Has he killed?" Stiles asks mildly.

The hunters look at each other and then back at him. The woman says, "Just animals so far, but it's an _omega_ ," she stresses, as if that's an automatic death sentence. Maybe in her mind it is.

Stiles nods and shrugs. "Okay, you've told me. You can leave now. Told you I'd take care of it and I will."

"You could let us…" the man starts to say, but Stiles blinks at him in clear dismissal.

"Leave," Stiles says, and he keeps his voice quiet, unassuming, but he puts some of his magic into it, enough to leave an impression. 

The hunters take a step back and then look at each other again, their alarm showing clearly this time.

Stiles gives them a bland smile before he shuts his door.

* * *

It's not like he _wanted_ to become a creepy magical hermit who lives in the middle of the forest at the ripe old age of 19. He wanted college, a normal life, but Fate or whatever deity you wanted to blame it on had other ideas, another future for Stiles.

Now he's got a cottage and acres and acres of the most magically protected woodlands in North America. He rarely goes into town anymore — too afraid of have a power overload. Deaton and his other magical mentors have told him he needs an anchor, a binding, but the only people he trusts enough for that kind of thing are sort of out of the question.

So Stiles is stuck in the Preserve. Most days he doesn't actually mind that much, though. He pours excess magic into the land and feels it shiver its gratitude. He knows fae have moved in, sprites and nymphs and pixies for certain. There's an unspoken truce between them and him, that they can stay as long as they don't make a nuisance of themselves. 

His dad and Scott and his pack come to visit, and sometimes even people from town come to ask for 'herbal remedies', and Stiles has stopped wondering how much weirder his life can get since he knows that question is always begging for more trouble.

* * *

The thing about omegas is that it is very rare that an omega actually chooses to live outside a pack. There are those who were kicked out, exiled (usually considered a fate worse than death), but that doesn't happen very often. Instead, omegas are usually alone because of hunters. Which means anger and grief and now that Stiles is concentrating on the omega he knows is only about a hundred yards from the cottage now, he's picking up on a lot of pain. He can't actually feel what the omega is feeling, not without a spell or temporary binding, but he is attuned enough with the forest that it gives him information. Like the way the omega is shaking against the trunk of a tree, and the low, pitiful whine that comes out when a cold blast of wind curls through the forest.

Stiles takes pity and opens his door. The omega doesn't mean any harm; if he did, the wards would have given him away the moment he entered Stiles's domain. Stiles doesn't know how far gone he is, mentally ( _feral_ , the hunter said), but it's not like Stiles is the totally defenseless human he was back when he was 16 and just getting started in the supernatural world.

"Come on, you can come in," Stiles says quietly, face turned to where he knows the omega is hiding. He still hasn't seen him, but he beckons anyway. "Get out of the cold. I've got food and a hot bath, maybe a warm place to sleep, okay?"

He waits. The forest tells him the omega heard, that he went still at the words, but not if he understood or if he's thinking it over. Stiles realizes that if the omega is having trouble with his human side, maybe he doesn't understand at all. So he beckons again with a huff and a smile, and puts a little magic into his words. "Come here. Come inside."

He doesn't like to use compulsion, but something tells Stiles that this omega needs someone to take the lead. He has no Alpha, after all, and it might actually be a relief.

It's dark now but Stiles can see the omega moving toward him in the shadows, hesitant, head bowed low like a supplicant, and it does something to Stiles's insides. Makes him feel a twist of sympathy. He holds out his hand when the omega comes close enough to touch, but he keeps his magic on standby just in case this turns out to be one of his less than stellar ideas.

The omega takes his hand, trembling, and lets himself be pulled into the warmth of the cottage.

It's not until they're in the center of the living room that Stiles really lets himself take a look at the stray he's dragged home. 

The omega is filthy. He stinks. He looks like he crawled his way across the country just to get himself here. He's trembling all over, wearing too-thin clothes for the weather, and he's staring at the floor like he knows exactly what picture he makes and he's ashamed of it.

Stiles puts a hand on the omega's shoulder and squeezes lightly. Wolves are tactile, and omegas are almost always touch-starved.

The omega raises his head, slowly, eyes darting around the room and never landing on Stiles. Stiles knows this is a respect thing, a wolf thing, but Stiles suddenly needs to see his eyes. He has a suspicion, but…

"Look at me," Stiles says, as soft as he can.

The wolf jerks away, then stills himself and Stiles can feel him bracing for something. But he does as Stiles says, raises his eyes, and yes, those are familiar hazel-green eyes, though they are much more anguished now than they ever were before.

"Derek," Stiles says, whispers, and pulls the wolf into a hug. He probably shouldn't, since he and Derek had never actually reached the hugging stage before Derek left town the last time, but Derek is practically vibrating with the need to be comforted.

Stiles doesn't know which is more strange — the hug itself or Derek's reaction to it. Derek doesn't even stiffen first, he just goes limp against Stiles and lets out a long breath or what seems to be relief, his hand fisting in the back of Stiles's shirt like he never wants to let go. He tucks his face into Stiles's neck and whimpers, practically gasping in and out like he can't get enough of Stiles's scent. It's worrying. Stiles is really fucking _worried_ right now, but all he can think to do is to pull Derek over to the sofa and cuddle with him there. 

And Derek lets him.

"It's okay, I've got you," Stiles whispers, and Derek responds well to that, stops the gasping until his breath is more even, more…

Stiles realizes Derek is falling asleep.

"Okay, no," Stiles says. Derek stiffens and pulls away, making a wounded noise, keeping his head ducked away and not making any eye contact. Stiles sighs. "I just meant you need to clean up and get some food in you before you crash on me, okay?"

Derek slowly raises his eyes again, but he looks so confused and lost that Stiles is pretty sure he didn't really catch it all.

"Can you talk at all?" Stiles asks softly.

Derek drops his gaze again and whines.

"Shit," Stiles says, running a hand through his hair. Derek looks more distressed at that, like it's all his fault and he wants to apologize. The communication thing might become an issue if he doesn't do something about it.

Stiles knows what he would like to do, a simple temporary binding, but he's not sure if it's the right thing.

He pulls back enough, takes Derek's hands in his, and says, "Hey, sourwolf. Do you trust me?"

Derek cocks his head. He doesn't understand. But, Stiles figures, Derek _did_ seek him out when he needed someone, so that's got to mean something.

"Okay," Stiles says, nodding more to himself than to Derek. "Stay right here. I'll be back."

Since Stiles turned 18, magic has come ridiculously easy to him. He can do almost anything, which is fucking frightening as hell, and the only downsides are the explosions and melting brain cells, but he tries not to think about that part of it.

So right now, when Stiles wants to figure out just what is going on in Derek's head, Stiles throws some herbs together with a shit-ton of belief, and then comes back to the living room with a small bowl of his concoction and his favorite small ceremonial knife. He crouches down in front of Derek and watches his face. He doesn't seem frightened, doesn't even twitch when Stiles brings the knife up and takes Derek's hand.

"This will help us both," Stiles says softly. "I don't need a lot, just enough to attune the potion to your mind, okay?" He can tell Derek doesn't understand, but since he's not freaking out Stiles takes it as a good sign.

Stiles cuts a line across Derek's palm, diagonally, and lets some blood drip into the bowl. Derek barely jerks. There's a hiss when the blood hits the herbs, which is to be expected when using supernatural blood, and Derek's palm heals. Stiles inspects the skin and smiles up at Derek's face. 

"You were so good, thank you," he says, and Derek's eyes go shiny with the praise. "Okay, gotta make this into some disgusting tea, but I'll be back in a few minutes and then we can maybe see about getting a shower or something, because you honestly do reek."

While Stiles waits for the tea to steep, he messages Scott. 

**derek at my place. I think I need a few days with him. don't let anybody come over.**

He's expecting the almost immediate call back.

"I'm not sure how I'm supposed to take that text. Are you guys, um, together? Or is something really bad going on?" Scott asks.

"It's nothing I can't handle on my own," Stiles says, hoping he's telling the truth. He ignores that Scott thinks they might be _together_. That ship never had a chance to sail. "He's… in a bad way. I think he just needs some time and a safe place to crash, you know? I just figured you should know." Sometimes Stiles forgets to tell Scott things and then Scott whines about being the Alpha and having responsibilities and how he's supposed to _know_ the important things.

"Does this have something to do with those hunters? Allison said they're staying at the Motel 6," Scott says.

Stiles lets out a growl. "I told those two to get lost." The tea is done and Stiles needs to drink it soon. "Look, how about you go tell them to move it on out of town and if I need any more help, I'll let you know? I've got to go now. Tea to drink, feels to feel."

"Stiles-" Scott says, pleading, really. 

"Trust me, okay? Do you have Cora's number?" Because Stiles certainly doesn't.

Scott sighs loud enough that it carries loudly across the line. "You know I trust you." He sighs over the line. "No, never had Cora's number. Do you need it? Maybe I can ask Peter." 

Stiles bites his lip, debating whether asking Scott to interact with Peter is worth the information. He decides for the moment it's not. "Nah, don't worry about it. I'll let you know if it comes to that."

He really does hope Cora's okay. For Derek to be this messed up, though…

He ends up saying goodbye to Scott and puts the phone away. He pours the blood and herbs in with his tea, eyeing the way the steam seems to glitter as it wafts from the cup. He's pretty sure this is the right thing to do. He shrugs and drinks it down as fast as he can, only gagging a little. He's used to the unpalatability of magical infusions.

He rinses the cup in his sink and walks back into the living room to face Derek, making a mental list that is basically comprised of three things: shower, food, sleep. His thoughts jolt to a halt as soon as the tea hits his bloodstream, though.

Stiles doesn't mess with mind magics very often, mostly because his own brain is tricky enough as it is, and adding in someone else's stuff on top of his very special brand of ADHD can lead to weirdness. But this is _Derek_ , and since Derek's sometimes hard to read even when he's in his right mind, Stiles feels the empathy potion (a temporary, one-way binding) is the only way he'll be able to actually figure out what's wrong and be able to help.

He isn't going to pause to reflect on why Derek rates this rather extreme measure, when he could probably count on one hand the number of people important enough to him to risk… Well, he's not going to stop and think about the risks, either.

Derek lifts his head and frowns at him. Stiles has gone stock still halfway to the couch, the unfamiliar sensation of someone else's emotions slowly wrapping around him. He knows it's only going to get stronger, so he closes his eyes and breathes the way he's been trained. Derek's obviously been through something traumatic, and what Stiles discovers would knock him over if he's not careful, so he builds up a supple shield to let him examine Derek's feelings without allowing them to take him over.

It's harder than he thought, though, because Derek is completely _raw_ right now. Stiles has to put all his training to the test as the potion runs through his blood and he feels every aching, desperate emotion Derek is trying to hold back even in this practically feral state.

Derek makes a soft sound, inquisitive and wounded, and Stiles opens his eyes to see him holding himself on the sofa, hands wrapped around his own thighs, claws digging through dirty jeans to pierce his muscles. The pain is the only thing grounding him, Stiles realizes. Derek's anchor is practically nonexistent, and he's more overwhelmed by his wolf than anything else.

"Derek," Stiles whispers helplessly, moving closer, kneeling in front of him. Derek's eyes glow blue, but Stiles can feel that Derek is more afraid of accidentally hurting Stiles than he is an actual danger. Not that Stiles isn't able to handle werewolves these days, especially a weak, packless omega. But Derek doesn't know that. Not yet.

Stiles moves in close to show him he's not frightened, his hands automatically moving to Derek's. 

"You're ruining my furniture," Stiles murmurs, watching the blood soak through Derek's pants to the fabric of the sofa underneath him. "And you're hurting yourself. Stop it."

Derek is so confused, so lost. Stiles can tell he doesn't really understand the words yet, so Stiles frowns at him and gently pries Derek's fingers out and away from his tensed thighs. The claws stay, but at least they're no longer digging into Derek's flesh. Stiles nods and runs his thumbs across the backs of Derek's hands to soothe and calm him, and eventually the claws retract and Derek's hands are human again.

"Good, that's good," Stiles praises, and Derek relaxes a little more when he realizes he's done something right. That's when Stiles picks up the thick thread of emotion running up and down and through Derek's mind, a neediness Stiles never though Derek could possess.

It shouldn't come as a shock, not really. Derek doesn't have an Alpha now, and if Stiles is guessing correctly, he hasn't in years. His wilder, wolfish side is practically begging for direction, for purpose, and Stiles is the only one here at the moment to provide it.

It's really something Stiles should turn over to Scott. His best friend is the Alpha of Beacon Hills, after all, and werewolves are his niche. But…

Stiles shivers as something cold and unpleasant rolls through him at the idea of handing Derek over to someone else, even someone he trusts as much as Scott. Scott would be good: patient and gentle. He'd figure out how to deal with Derek, give him enough structure to build him back up again. He'd welcome him to his pack, no matter the history between them, because that was the kind of man Scott has grown to be. He's a good Alpha, there's no question of that.

But Stiles balks at that in an automatic way that is nothing close to selfless or kind. He knows it's wrong, knows the knee-jerk possessiveness is unhealthy and pretty close to dark, but at the moment he doesn't care. Derek came to _him_.

Derek seems to sense the unsettling thoughts Stiles is having and tries to distract him with a soft, questioning noise. Stiles can feel his suffering, his aching sense of being adrift without an anchor, but Derek is ignoring that because _Stiles_ feels bad. 

Stiles doesn't deserve that kind of consideration, but he's not going to pass it up. He's been so lonely since he came into his power, and broken even before that. He thinks that maybe, if he gives Derek the things he needs, he might earn the kind of devotion he'll receive in return. 

He realizes he's already made his decision. That he made it the moment he realized the omega on his doorstep was Derek Hale. 

He nods quickly to himself. He can do this. He can have this. Maybe it won't be for as long as he wants, because eventually Derek will come back to himself and leave again. Soon, maybe not even too long from now, Derek will be strong again. Stiles wants him to be, wants his broken pieces put back together, and maybe Stiles will be able to help him with that. There's the tiniest spark of hope inside him that whispers _maybe he won't leave, maybe he'll want to stay even after…_ but Stiles squashes it down viciously and focuses on what needs to be done right now.

"You stink," Stiles says, standing and tugging Derek up from the sofa. "Follow me." He wraps a hand around one of Derek's wrists, tight and secure. He's surprised at the sense of relief the firm grasp gives Derek, at how much Derek seems to crave the unspoken order as Stiles leads him into the bathroom.

Stiles starts the water so it can heat up, then pushes Derek to sit down on the closed lid of the toilet. Derek is so passive, so pliant, that Stiles has to start gabbing to him so he doesn't dwell too hard on the surreality of the moment. As Stiles removes Derek's boots and disgustingly crusted socks he gives Derek the latest news on Beacon Hills. He tries not to fixate on the smooth skin he uncovers, trying to act nonchalant, like he undresses half-wild werewolves all the time. 

Derek relaxes the more Stiles talks. Apparently the sound of Stiles's voice is soothing to him. That, or he's just so exhausted that he doesn't care. By the time Derek is completely naked, he's lax and obeying Stiles with a few physical cues. A tug to his elbow, a gentle push of his shoulder, a tap to his thigh to get him moving into the shower.

"Can you bathe yourself?" Stiles asks, offering Derek a cloth and a bar of soap. Stiles stands outside the shower while the hot water runs down Derek's body, but Derek's eyebrows knit together and Stiles would have been able to read the uncertainty even without the empathy. Stiles takes a breath and nods. He's not conflicted exactly, he _wants_ to do this, to care for Derek, but there's that pesky ethical part of his mind telling him it's not exactly right, that he's taking advantage.

He would probably stop himself if he didn't have a direct line to Derek's feelings on the subject. To his complete and utter _need_. It's not sexual, but it has everything to do with touch and belonging.

Stiles skims out of his shirt, shoes, and socks and joins Derek in the shower, positioning him just right so that the spray hits his head, the hot water running through his matted hair. It's longer than Stiles is used to seeing, and it's obvious it hasn't seen a good shampooing in some time, so Stiles decides to tackle that first. He tilts Derek's face away from the spray and works up a thick lather in his hair, his fingers working out the tangles and snarls before he rinses and repeats. It's the scalp massage that gets Derek's attention. A low moan escapes his lips and Stiles grins.

"You like that?" Stiles murmurs, his soapy hands slipping down to dig into the back of Derek's neck. The pure, bright feeling of gratitude and relief that radiates from Derek is almost more rewarding than the obvious implicit trust Derek is giving him. Stiles has to take some deep breaths and focus himself, ignoring the way his body is responding to Derek's contented sighs and low grumbles of pleasure.

Stiles pulls away to soap the washcloth, then starts dragging it across and down Derek's body to get rid of the streaks of blood, dirt, and other things he'd rather not identify. Stiles bites his lip hard, the sharp pain a mild focus point to distract him from Derek's smooth skin. 

Stiles scrubs Derek everywhere, under his arms (god, he needs it), down his legs, between his toes. Between his legs as quickly and efficiently as he can. Then back up again where he's face to Derek's back again.

He can't help the way his fingertips trace over Derek's tattoo. He's always wanted to touch it, to be granted permission to trace the symbolic swirls of the triskele, and now it hits him that this new Derek has given his whole self up into Stiles's keeping.

The realization hits Stiles hard and he tilts his head forward to rest solidly against the back of Derek's neck. His hands move of their own accord, palms fitting right at Derek's sides, fingers curled possessively around his hipbones.

Derek moans, the most human sound he's made since his return, and pushes back. His ass hits the front of Stiles's soaked jeans. Stiles winces and ignores his rapidly hardening cock. He pulls away. 

"None of that." It doesn't help that his voice comes out half-strangled with lust. But Derek can't consent like this, even if Stiles can feel his base desire.

Derek feels confused at first. Then the other things trickle in, like hurt and rejection. Damn.

"Shh, it's okay. I'm not leaving, I just… I'm not taking advantage of you. Okay?"

Of course Derek doesn't understand.

Stiles turns him around face to face. He struggles not to stare down at the werewolf's impressive erection. He gives him a lopsided smile. "I think you're scrubbed enough. Let's get you out of here and into some clean clothes."

At least Derek doesn't look like he's lost too much weight. The sweatpants Stiles dresses him in are tight. Stiles changes his own clothes, out of the wet and into the dry, and since Derek doesn't want to leave his side, Stiles inadvertently puts on a strip show. He laughs to himself, thinking of how uncomfortable it would have made him a couple of years ago. Now he just does what he needs to, and if Derek watches the entire time with half-lidded eyes, well. He can't do much about that, can he?

Stiles notices Derek's eyelids are drooping again. "I'm gonna make you some soup before you crash. Follow me." Stiles beckons for Derek to follow him into the kitchen.

He clears away the mess he made with the potion and looks in the fridge. He has leftover chicken soup Kira brought him a few days before. It's easy enough to heat it up, and Derek seems interested in the smell as it simmers on the stove. That's a good sign, but Stiles worries how he's going to eat the soup. Whether he'll be able to handle a spoon or if it'll be a Beauty and the Beast situation.

Stiles decides not to worry about it and just puts it in a big mug for Derek. He takes the werewolf's hands and wraps them around the warm cup, then lifts it to Derek's mouth. "Here. Eat… or drink, whatever. There you go. Good."

Derek closes his eyes as he drinks the soup, like he can't believe how good it is. Stiles wonders what he's been eating, if anything. He's not emaciated, but in the condition he's in, there's little chance he's been having regular meals.

When Derek finishes, Stiles takes the empty mug away and smiles. "That was good. Thank you for that. Now, you're tired, right? Yeah, I can see your eyelids drooping. How about some sleep?"

Derek's emotions are easier to read because of the potion, but even without it Stiles would be able to see how he lights up at praise, and how safe he feels now, as compared to how he seemed when he first showed up.

Stiles takes his hand and leads him into the bedroom. There's only one, and only one bed. Stiles doesn't get overnight guests much, and it's been forever since someone else has been in his bed. Still, he doesn't hesitate to give his space to Derek. He pulls the covers back and gently pushes Derek down onto the pillow. Derek turns his head into it, sniffing loudly. He seems pleased at the scent of it.

"Okay. You can sleep. I'll take the couch."

But Derek doesn't let go of his hand. Won't let him back out of the room. He doesn't want Stiles to leave.

Stiles wonders how long it's been since Derek's had the touch and comfort of pack, or someone resembling pack. Probably too long. He knows how tactile werewolves are, and knows Derek probably needs more reassurance if he's going to sleep well.

So Stiles rolls his eyes fondly and pushes Derek over a little so he has room to lie down with him. The bed isn't even a queen, just a double, and there's not that much room for two people when one of them is Derek. Derek moves easily, then pulls Stiles down to the bed. Into his arms.

It's not exactly a surprise that Derek wants to hold on to him. Stiles can feel his heart beating heavy in his on chest, and wonders what Derek thinks of the sound of it.

Derek makes a low, content noise and his emotions are telling Stiles he feels safe and happy, such a difference from when he first came. He falls asleep quickly, leaving Stiles to think. 

The last thought Stiles has before he falls asleep himself is that he didn't have one magical mishap with Derek there, even when he was worried and overwrought for Derek's wellbeing. He wonders, as he's slipping into dreams, what it means.

* * *

When he wakes, he sees Derek is already up. Sitting up, actually, and Stiles's head has drooped down or fallen into his lap. 

He can't feel Derek's emotions anymore, so the potion has worn off. Stiles is sad to see it go. But Derek's eyes seem brighter, more aware, and Stiles has hope. "Hi?"

Derek's smile is lopsided. "Hi."

Stiles picks his head up quickly, nearly braining himself on Derek's chin. "You're verbal again? Oh thank god."

Derek frowns. He shakes his head and doesn't say anything else.

Stiles nods. "Okay, so… not completely back yet, then." He bites his lip. "Can you understand me okay, though?"

Derek holds out his hand and makes a see-sawing motion. "Most."

"I'll go slow," Stiles promises. "The potion helped a lot. Do you want me to… to make another one? Feel what you do? Or is that too much a breach of privacy?"

Derek scowls at that. 

Stiles laughs at himself. "Right. Slow. I just said I'd go slow and I'm already… shit. Okay."

Derek's face says, 'Are you kidding me right now?' as clearly as if he'd said it aloud. It makes Stiles laugh again, this time with a lot less self-recrimination. 

"I've missed that face." It's okay to admit that, right? "I've missed you." He scoots up and sits against the headboard with Derek. He has to piss but he doesn't want to leave yet.

Derek gives him a look Stiles can't interpret. He leans his head in and scrubs his beard against the side of Stiles's head. It's scenting, maybe even an answer. Maybe it's Derek's way of saying he's missed him, too.

"Bathroom," Stiles says. He pulls away, keeping his eyes on Derek. "I gotta pee."

That, it seems, Derek understands. He nods.

When Stiles is getting out of the bathroom, Derek's there waiting his turn. Definitely understood, then.

Derek looks like he hasn't seen a razor in some time, but Stiles isn't about to suggest it yet. Maybe he'll tackle Derek's face with the clippers when he's a little more himself.

At least now Stiles has hope that Derek's coming back.

* * *

Scott calls while Stiles is making pancakes. "I got Cora's number from Peter," he says, and Stiles freezes what he's doing. Worst case scenario is that something happened to her, that she's hurt or worse and that's what made Derek go off the deep end. 

"Yeah?"

"She says she hasn't seen him in months, but that she talked to him two weeks ago and he was okay. He wasn't staying with her though."

Stiles breathes a sigh of relief. He sees Derek has his head tilted as he sits at Stiles's kitchen island, listening in on the conversation with a look of concentration on his face. Stiles nods even though Scott can't see it. "Thanks, man. That's all I needed to know."

"Sure, no problem. You sure you don't need me?" Scott sounds so earnest.

"Derek just needs some time," Stiles says, shooting Derek a smile that says he believes what he's saying. He hopes his heart is steady.

"Hmm. Or you both need some time alone?" Scott asks, a little too sly.

Stiles sputters and Scott laughs before hanging up. Stiles stares at the phone a few seconds before putting it down. "Well. That's embarrassing."

"Burning," Derek says, nodding to Stiles's skillet. Oh right, the pancakes.

"First one never comes out right anyway," Stiles blusters.

* * *

After breakfast, Stiles asks Derek what he wants to do. Derek shrugs but looks toward the door.

"We can go for a walk if you want," Stiles says.

Derek nods. It's as good as an enthusiastic yes.

They get dressed, put on shoes (after Stiles magics Derek's clean, and it takes awhille), and go for a walk in the woods. They aren't Stiles's woods, not like the hunters think, but he does feel comfortable outdoors now. There's nothing there that can hurt him, and it always feels welcoming. But Derek is a Hale, and now that the woods are more _aware_ these days, thanks to the magic Stiles has been pouring into the land, Derek is welcomed the same way Stiles is.

Maybe even more.

"Do you feel it?" Stiles asks him when they're about a mile away from the cottage.

Derek breathes in deep and smiles. He looks around and the look on his face is one Stiles recognizes. He's in awe but also in sync with the nature. 

"Is it why you came here? Did you feel a pull to the land or something?" 

Derek frowns and shakes his head. He gives Stiles a long look. "You."

"Me?" Stiles bites his lip, trying to think of what Derek might mean. "You came here… when you needed… you came to me?"

Derek gives a short nod. Then he pulls Stiles over to a big oak tree and puts their hands on it. For a moment Stiles thinks Derek's continuing the thought, but then he realizes there's a sprite living in the tree, and Derek can feel its spirit. 

Leaving Stiles to wonder why Derek came to him specifically, while Derek goes from tree to tree like an inquisitive pup.

"Peter comes out here sometimes," Stiles says after watching Derek finally interact with one brave sprite. "They ignore him, for the most part, but he's a Hale. The land knows. And I think it helps him to feel like he's part of something again."

In fact, Stiles has seen a lot of growth from Peter. Malia, too. Separately and together. But that's something Stiles can talk about once Derek's more himself.

"I'm sure Scott invited Cora out here when he talked to her. Think she'd like it?" Stiles asks idly.

Derek gives him a soft smile. Enough that his teeth show, and that always does Stiles in. 

"Yeah. I bet she'd make friends with the sprites, too. You know, there's a stream not too far from here, maybe we can see another kind. They, uh. It's not that I don't have friends, I mean I do have my dad and the pack still, but I don't really leave the Preserve anymore. Hell, I rarely leave my house." He doesn't know how to explain the magical problems he has. 

Derek makes a soft questioning noise.

"My magic is really strong," Stiles mutters. He scratches the back of his neck and looks up into the trees. "Too strong. I don't have anything to keep it from going boom. It gets out of control really easily and so… well, you've seen me. I'm a hermit these days."

It's a miracle nothing's happened since Derek's been around. Stiles usually doesn't get through a day without at least two big accidents. His house is magic-proofed as much as it can be, thanks to Deaton, but it's only possible because of how far out of town he is. 

"Hey, maybe you being around helps," Stiles says without thinking. And then a beat later hears what he's saying and says it again. Slowly. "Derek…. you being around _helps_."

Derek's looking at him now, watching intently. 

Stiles laughs. "But really that's something I should think about when I'm not faced with someone else's problems. We gotta figure out what's wrong with you, dude. And how to get you back to normal."

Derek's mouth works for a minute, and then he spits out, "Witch."

"Who, me?" Stiles asks, a little hurt at the way Derek said the word.

Derek rolls his eyes. 'Not you, dumbass' he seems to say. Stiles nods and watches him. Derek points to himself. Makes a frustrated face. Repeats, "Witch."

"Shit. Shit!" Stiles can't believe he was this dumb. "You were cursed by a witch!"

Derek points to him and touches his nose. Oh, _that_ he can do. It makes Stiles laugh again.

"Okay. I'm really pissed at myself for not checking you over for curses first thing. Let's go back to the house and I'll see what I can do, okay?"

There's hope in Derek's eyes as they walk back, a light that wasn't there before.

* * *

There is a curse, or at least the remnants of one.

"It's wearing off, which would explain why you're coming back to yourself. I want to see what I can do about getting rid of the rest of it, and then we'll see how you feel. Sound good?"

Derek gives a strong affirmative nod.

"I'm so stupid, I shouldn't have made that potion without checking you for curses first, I can't believe I did that," Stiles grumbles.

Derek gives him a look.

"Well, no, nothing bad happened, but it could have!" Stiles says, paging through a book on werewolf curses. He doesn't know what curse the witch put on Derek, but there's a section on general counter-curses and cleansings, and that's what he wants. "Oh, well, I guess the shower helped… since that's part of cleansing." It fits perfectly, in fact. The magic user gives the cursed a good scrub down, while focusing on their well-being. "The sleep probably helped, too. Gives your mind a way to rest. Okay, so what else… I'll make up a new brew for you to drink and then some more sleep and you should be good as new."

He has everything he needs in the cottage. It's not just coincidental — the cleansing potion really doesn't require a lot in the way of ingredients. It's the brewer's will that provides the majority of the healing, and Stiles has a lot of will.

Derek sits at the island again and watches curiously while Stiles brews his potion. 

"I hope you stick around for awhile once you're feeling better," Stiles says without looking up. "It's not so much that I'm lonely, but man, you never know how much you'll miss someone sharing space with you until it's gone."

The potion requires concentration at this stage, so Stiles shuts up and pours his will into every stir. He thinks about Derek happy, healthy, enjoying the woods without anything getting in the way. He thinks about his wolf and human sides being in balance, with Derek having a strong anchor. He can't help but think about how Derek came to him specifically when he needed him, but he pushes that thought away and concentrates more on Derek being happy and healthy again.

A thin plume of light blue smoke fizzles up from the potion and that's how Stiles knows it's done. He removes it from the heat of his stove and pours it into a mug. 

"We'll let that cool and then you can drink it," Stiles says. He turns around and finds that Derek's moved. He's right there behind him. Or, rather, in front of him now. 

"Oh. Damn, don't do that, you… well, you almost scared me. Not that you scare me anymore but."

"Stiles," Derek says. He's standing so close, and all Stiles can do is look into his eyes. 

"Yeah?"

Derek leans forward and for one heart-stopping moment Stiles thinks he's going to kiss him. But he just leans in and rubs his bearded cheek against Stiles's temple. Scenting again. Stiles thinks maybe it's a 'Thank you'.

"Yeah." Stiles breathes out and closes his eyes, lets Derek do his wolfy thing. He can't help but wish it was something else, but he'll take what he can get. Not that Derek should be kissing anyone in his current state of mind. Stiles picks up the mug and blows over the surface of the liquid. "Here. Drink."

Derek does without any hesitation. When the potion is all gone, he sets the mug down on the counter and looks at Stiles with his eyebrows raised.

Stiles laughs. "And now you should get some more rest."

Derek reaches up and cups Stiles's face with one hand. His thumb skims lightly under Stiles's eye, right where Stiles knows a dark circle is. 

"Yeah, maybe I should rest, too," Stiles grumbles.

Derek nods. 

And that's how Stiles ends up in bed with Derek for the second time in as many days.

* * *

Stiles doesn't sleep right away. He's confused. Bemused. Flummoxed. 

He managed hours without one magical explosion. He went outside and didn't accidentally splinter any logs, or catch some leaves on fire, or cause the stream to start flowing in the wrong fucking direction. (These all being things he's done before. More than once.)

He tries to think about what his mentors told him, about finding an anchor, of binding himself to something or someone closely enough that it grounded his magic. He doesn't believe in spontaneous control. But the only thing different is Derek.

Maybe he inadvertently latched on to Derek in a way he hasn't to anyone or anything before? He has so many questions. He's not even sure it's possible, but… maybe Derek is his anchor?

"Shh," Derek says, half asleep. He rolls over and pulls Stiles into his arms. Derek's chest is to Stiles's back and his hand rests over Stiles's heart.

Stiles's throat clicks. "I didn't say anything." He's right where he wants to be but he knows it's probably his last chance at it.

"Sleep," Derek grumbles against the back of Stiles's neck.

Who is he to argue with that? He's tired. He hasn't slept soundly in so long he forgets what it's like. And he's being held in a way he's always wanted. By Derek. So he lets go of his questions for the moment and obeys.

* * *

Stiles wakes up before Derek. It's dark, and the clock says it's nine o'clock. He doesn't want to leave the bed, exactly, which is why he needs to do it. Indulging in a little cuddling is all fine and good, but he shouldn't let himself get used to it. Derek's going to wake up soon, probably just fine, and he won't want to keep snuggling Stiles.

Stiles realizes he's hungry. He hasn't eaten since breakfast. With one last, longing look at Derek, he slips out of bed and pads toward the kitchen. There's not much there but some leftover soup and sandwich fixings. He settles on grilled cheese, making a note to get groceries soon.

His dad or Scott usually shop for him, because he's not magically stable enough to go into town. But since Derek showed up, his magic doesn't feel like it's about to bubble over at any moment. He feels steady. Solid. 

Anchored?

He doesn't know how to bring it up to Derek, once Derek is himself again. And Derek will probably need to leave again, to go off wandering wherever he wants. It seems it's what he's been doing lately, wandering around. Stiles has no idea where Derek was when he tangled up with the witch.

He eats his grilled cheese and drinks half a can of soda. Not the healthiest dinner, but it'll do for now.

If Derek leaves, and Stiles loses control of his magic again, what does he do? Beg Derek to come back, to stay?

His phone vibrates on the counter and Stiles picks it up. It's Scott again. "Yo."

"Hey, I've been trying to call for hours," Scott says. "You and Derek okay? Got anything you wanna tell me?"

"Derek's sleeping," Stiles says, then realizes how that must sound. "I mean, I gave him a potion and he's sleeping. He wasn't doing too good when he got here. A witch cursed him."

"Why didn't you tell me that to begin with?" Scott asks.

"I didn't exactly know until Derek could talk again," Stiles says with a deep sigh. "Listen, I think… I think I found my anchor."

"That's great, man!" Scott says.

And Scott's right, it is great. Stiles has been suffering and struggling with his magic for over a year. "How do I tell Derek it's him?"

Scott's quiet for a few moments. "I guess just tell him?"

"I don't want to trap him, Scott. I need him but not… not if it means making him stay here. Not unless he wants to."

"What's so wrong with Beacon Hills? He's got a claim on the land that I don't, and he should feel it now. Maybe he'll want to stay, once he thinks about it."

"That's… Yeah, maybe," Stiles says on a sigh.

"Not to mention the fact that _you're_ here. That might make him want to stay."

And the problem with that kind of thinking is that it's not very realistic. Stiles says as much. "Bro, you are way too romantic for your own good. You know that's not how real life works. Just because I-"

"It's not just you," Scott interrupts. "Trust me."

And maybe… maybe Scott's right. Derek did come to Stiles when he needed him, when he was losing his anchor, when he needed someone steady to calm him and then he felt safe with Stiles in a way he needed at the time. 

Maybe, somehow, they can help each other.

He gets off the phone with Scott and turns around, only to see Derek standing there. He's still wearing sweatpants and nothing else. Stiles does his best not to stare at the gorgeous picture he makes.

"Hey," Stiles says, not really knowing what else to say. "Did you hear any of that?" Part of him is hoping he's still not quite himself.

But Derek nods. Then shrugs. "I tried not to eavesdrop but that's always hard when you're talking about me."

Stiles makes a face. "Welcome back." Of course Derek's back to himself now, when Stiles doesn't want to be put on the spot. "What about the part about you being my anchor?"

Derek's eyebrows climb. "I came in at the end. I didn't hear that part."

With a huff, Stiles reaches for the bread. "Want a grilled cheese?"

"Are you deflecting with food?" Derek asks.

"I think I prefer you nonverbal," Stiles grumbles.

Derek grins. "That's a lie." His smile has Stiles's heart tripping over itself. "Anchor?"

"For my magic. I've been a little out of control since I came into it, and… you help. I don't know if you're my anchor or not, it's just been a lot easier since you showed up."

"And that's why you want me to stay," Derek says. He doesn't sound… thrilled. His voice is pretty flat.

Stiles decides to at least try to bare his feelings. "Not the only reason. I mean…" He swallows. Waves his hands a little. Tries to convey, 'I'm head over heels for you and I always have been' without saying the words.

"I remember everything since I was cursed, you know."

Stiles picks his head up. He hadn't realized it was hanging. "Yeah?" He thinks of that moment in the shower, when he could have taken advantage, when Derek wasn't himself.

"I remember thinking I had to get to you," Derek says.

Stiles blinks. It's not what he's expecting. "What? Why?"

Derek shrugs. "You tell me. You're the one talking about anchors."

"Me?" Stiles licks his lips nervously. He's about to say more when Derek shrugs and heads toward the door. 

"I'm going for a run," he says. "Think about it."

It's an abrupt end to the conversation, and Stiles is left feeling like someone just shook him up and then left him alone. Which, as the door closes, he realizes is exactly what happened.

* * *

Once Stiles gets his bearings back, he sits down and has a long think. Then he gets up and stretches his perception so he can feel the preserve and keep tabs on Derek. It's not that he thinks Derek won't come back, not after the almost-revelation they just had, but he wants to feel his energy. 

Stiles loves the woods. Loves the acres and acres of magic twined up and growing in the Preserve. And he loves when Scott's pack goes running through, especially Peter and Malia because of their claim to the Hale land. They fit. And now he can feel Derek running. 

He's shifted, Stiles realizes. When Stiles opens the door, he sees Derek left his clothes on the porch. Stiles leaves them where they are and sits down on the steps. It's dark, a little chilly, but it doesn't matter. He closes his eyes and lets his perception widen even more, so he can feel Derek and his bond with the forest.

Between the land and the fact that Stiles may be Derek's anchor, maybe Derek really will stay in Beacon Hills this time.

Stiles feels every bit of life, every creature, in his woods. Hale woods, yes, but his too. And that's why he notices when the hunters come back and start trailing behind Derek.

Tracking him.

Stiles opens his eyes. "Fuck that." That's not going to stand.

He can't get there instantaneously, because unfortunately Apparition isn't real. But he can slow the hunters down until he can get there to stop them.

He calls on his magic, on the Preserve's magic, to help him. But then he feels the shot, feels it like it's in his own body. He's too late to stop them.

Not too late to save Derek, though. He refocuses and the very trees around the hunters listen. Or maybe it's their sprites. The guns are taken away and the hunters are weaponless and captured. Somehow.

But Derek is injured and Stiles needs to get to him right away. He runs as quick as his feet can carry him.

* * *

Treating a wolfsbane bullet isn't something you forget how to do, not when Stiles had such a horrific lesson the first time. This time he's quick and efficient as he can be, ignoring the trapped hunters and focusing solely on Derek. He's shifted back but his fangs and claws are still out because of the pain. 

"You are so lucky I'm nosy and kept tabs on you, mister," Stiles mutters as he lights the wolfsbane on fire with his Spark. He treats Derek's wound, which is thankfully just in the leg. Once he's sure Derek's in the clear, he turns around and glares at the two hunters.

They're tangled up in a combination of vines and roots. Utterly defenseless. Stiles could hurt them like this if he wanted. He certainly has cause.

"Did I or did I not say I had this under control?" Stiles grinds out.

The hunters both talk at once. "The Omega-" "He was running wild-"

Stiles sighs. "When's the last time you saw a feral omega who could do the full shift?" he asks.

That brings the hunters up short. They don't have an answer to that.

"That's what I thought," Stiles says. "The full shift takes concentration and a good grip on an anchor. This is Derek Hale. He's a friend of mine. He came for me to help, I helped, and now he's free to run through this land — Hale land, by the way — as free and wild as he wants. Did I ask you two to stick around? Did I say I needed help?"

The woman speaks up. "No, sir."

"You could have killed an innocent," Stiles says. "You went against your Code."

"But we thought-" the man starts, but Stiles isn't having it.

"Shut the fuck up. You aren't needed here. There are Argents living in town, and if I need a hunter, I'll call them. Not a couple green upstarts who can't tell a fully shifted werewolf from a feral one. You got me?"

Both hunters nod. 

"Get out of town." It's an order, and when the trees loosen to give them their freedom back, the hunters listen and obey. They don't take their guns, which are unusable now anyway. Twisted and bent on themselves from… well, Stiles is going to blame sprites.

When the hunters are out of hearing range, long gone, Stiles kneels by Derek. Derek is panting, but his color is returning and he didn't even have a chance to start throwing up black goo. That's a good sign.

"How you doing, big guy?"

Derek snorts. "Peachy."

"Can you walk?" Stiles asks. He forgot to bring Derek's pants, so he's naked. Stiles needs to get used to nudity, he guesses. He just wishes it wasn't such beautiful nudity, because it's hard to ignore.

"I may need to lean on you a little."

Like that's any kind of hardship. "Anytime."

* * *

By the time they get back to Stiles's cottage, Derek doesn't need to lean anymore. He's healed right up. Omegas don't normally heal that fast, but Stiles thinks being in the Preserve has something to do with it.

"Go take a shower," Stiles says. "I'll fix you a late supper."

It is rather late, past midnight now. Derek takes his shower and Stiles makes another grilled cheese, since that's all he really has. 

Stiles thinks about Derek one day coming up behind him and kissing his neck while he cooks. It's a domestic fantasy, but he's allowed to have those, right?

When Derek comes out, Stiles notices he found the clippers. His beard is trimmed neatly and he looks good enough to eat. 

"You look good," Stiles blurts. "I mean. Better. Not on the edge of death or anything."

Derek gives him a smile that's cute and shy and _fuck_ , Stiles has it bad. He's always had it bad but with Derek right in front of him he's got it so bad he can't help himself. He doesn't even realize what he's doing until Derek's arms are around him and they're kissing.

Kissing. It's not a dream, not a fantasy. Derek's breath is minty and did he plan this? Or maybe he just wanted to brush his teeth. Maybe Stiles should have brushed his teeth. What did Derek brush his teeth with, Stiles's toothbrush? That's kinda gross, but then he remembers he had a new toothbrush he put out the day before specifically for Derek.

"Stop thinking," Derek murmurs. And yeah, Stiles can do that. Or rather, he can shift his focus to Derek's lips, his tongue, the scrape of his stubble against Stiles's chin. The way Derek holds him close, like he's precious, like he doesn't want Stiles to get away.

Stiles doesn't want to get away, so it works out well.

When they finally pull apart, Derek rests his forehead against Stiles's. "I've wanted to do that for a long time."

"Really?" Stiles can't believe that. "I thought I was the only one." Derek laughs, but it sounds a little bitter. Stiles doesn't want him sounding like that again. "Hey. Why don't you kiss me again?"

Derek grins at that and takes him up on his offer.

* * *

By mutual agreement, they decide to take it slow. Kissing is happening a lot, but anything beyond that, well, neither of them is ready for it. Well, Stiles is ready, he's always _ready_ , but he's not sure he can have sex yet without shattering all the light bulbs in the cottage.

Derek seems content to keep things PG. And they have a discussion about anchors. Well, 'discussion' might be a little too sophisticated a word.

"So, I'm your anchor?" Stiles asks after they've made out for a full hour. His lips tingle, over-sensitive and swollen. He's sure he's got beard burn.

"Yeah," Derek says. "And I'm yours, apparently?"

Stiles cards a hand through Derek's hair. "All signs point to yes."

Derek huffs. "So, we should test it somehow."

"I haven't been shopping myself in a year and we really need groceries," Stiles says. "But then again, I don't have a car right now. I guess I can call my dad and ask him to drive the Jeep over."

"How long since you've driven Roscoe?"

It makes Stiles's heart even warmer to know Derek remembers the name of his Jeep. "Um, a year. About that." He's nervous about driving again.

Derek kisses his temple. "I believe in you."

And that… that's a magic in itself. Stiles smiles stupidly and sighs. "So… you staying?"

"Nothing could keep me away."

Stiles looks into Derek's eyes and yeah, he can see the truth there. He can see their future, too, laid out before them like a promise.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment if you liked it! No sequel is planned.


End file.
